


The Day That Never Comes

by messageredacted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After John died in the nursery fire and Azazel took Sam away, Mary and Dean Winchester have devoted their lives to getting Sam back, whether he wants to come or not. Now the Devil's Gate is open and Azazel and Sam are working hard to set Lucifer free, and it seems saving the world and saving Sam may be mutually exclusive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN_J2_Bigbang in 2009. To see the accompanying artwork, visit [the website](http://theday.host22.com/Welcome_Home.html) by vengefuldemon69.
> 
> Originally written 31 July 2009.

In the parking garage security footage, the boy is willowy and calm, his hair in a bowl cut. He has a pretty face, somehow immediately likeable, even though the footage is grainy and he’s standing over a corpse.

Next to him is a man in jeans and a flannel shirt, maybe forty years old, dark hair. He doesn’t look hot, though it’s August in Louisiana. He makes a gesture to the corpse, something casual, as if he’s explaining something. The boy nods earnestly. Behind him, two other kids are standing back by the row of parked cars, looking from the man to the boy to the corpse. It’s obvious that the lesson is not directed at them. They’re just along for the ride. The focus is on the boy.

Now the man looks to the side and makes another gesture. A woman comes into the frame, scraping across the concrete of the parking garage. She looks like she’s wrestling something invisible. Her arms and legs flail and jerk in the air. Her face is twisted in a look of terror and maybe she’s screaming, but the video has no sound.

She comes to a stop next to the corpse and suddenly she lurches sideways like the invisible force has let go. She scrambles to her knees and to her feet, backing away from them. The man crosses his arms over his chest and glances at the boy.

The boy reaches out to her. He’s at least ten feet away from her, not nearly close enough to touch her. She stumbles but shrugs it off and then bolts out of the frame.

The boy glances at the man, his face worried, but the man does not change expression. The boy gestures again, sharper, and there is brief movement at the edge of the frame, a flash of struggling. The boy’s face clenches in concentration. The woman comes back in the frame, dragged backwards. She’s struggling again and it looks like she’s almost going to get free but the boy is still reaching out to her and slowly she comes back, stopping only when she’s right in front of them.

The boy is looking at her with an expression of nervous anticipation and possibly morbid curiosity. He frowns in concentration. For a few minutes, ticking by at the top of the footage, nothing happens.

Then a shadow peels itself up off the pavement underneath a car and slides toward them, lifting into the air like a kite, splitting into shards of darkness. It comes towards the woman.

The spray of blood splatters the screen and the video ends.

 

##

 

The bodies are fly-blown, maggots teeming around whatever orifices the flies could reach. This one has a few vicious claw marks down his chest, which have provided ample egg-laying ground. The air has the turned warmth of late spring and it carries the stench of death like a threatening rain.

“A few days old, at least,” Mom says, squatting down to study it. She splays her fingers, holds them above the wound to measure the width of the claw marks. Her hands are tiny and the claw marks are wide. The maggots are chunky and fat, tumbling under her fingertips like dice.

“Before the gate,” Dean infers. The body is a man in his mid-twenties with brown hair and a few days of stubble. Dean recognizes him from the photographs. Andrew Gallagher.

The houses around them seem to press in on them, blank glass windows staring at them from all sides. It’s like an old-fashioned ghost town. There has been no sign of life around here, certainly no other residents. So far, nothing supernatural either, though Dean adjusts his grip on the shotgun anyway. Whatever killed this kid wasn’t human.

Mom stands up and takes her notebook out of the leather bag slung across her back. Dean turns in a slow circle, taking in the buildings all around them. The air is still as glass, quiet in the kind of way that makes Dean think there’s something there waiting for them. These people were put here in some sort of last-man-standing cage match, and the list of Azazel’s favorite children is getting shorter and shorter. The ones that remain are the real danger, the kind of people who can do what was done to this sad corpse.

Mom drags a thick black line through Andrew Gallagher’s name on the list. All but four are crossed out now. Dean’s eyes flick to the name at the top of the list, written in Mom’s neat, unhurried handwriting. _Samuel Winchester._

“We should keep looking,” she says. “There must be more bodies.” Her voice is mild and expressionless as always, but Dean can read the meaning behind it.

He nods and taps his thigh with the shotgun. “Which way?”

Mom picks a house at random and they head towards it. On the front steps, Dean glances down the street and sees the windmill. Something swings in the breeze from a rope.

“Mom—”

She turns back and squints in the same direction.

“And then there were three,” she says, and then she turns and heads into the house.

Dean follows, giving one last sweep of the street before he lets the door swing shut. Mom has her gun out and moves into the first room of the house. They make quick work of the first floor, then head upstairs.

Ava Wilson is in the upstairs room, lying on her back, eyes filmed with dust. She has long brown hair. She was pretty once. Mom gives her a cursory look and then suggests they check the next house.

Dean leads the way down the stairs this time and keeps an ear to the rest of the house, in case something decided to follow them in. He pushes the front door open carefully, studying the street through the crack, before opening it all the way and stepping through.

“Dean,” Mom whispers, and Dean freezes.

Across the street, in the upper window of one of the houses, a curtain swings shut. Mom eases out of the house next to Dean.

“It could be him.”

“It could be what killed these people,” Dean says. “It’s already seen us.”

“You got your holy water?”

Dean nods. Mom nudges him forward and he starts across the street.

The front door of the house isn’t locked. Dean goes in first, swinging the gun to cover the room, then going for the stairs. Mom is right behind him.

He gets to the top of the stairs and heads right, to the room with the curtain. It’s empty, as he expected. He shoves the door open at the far end of the room and steps through.

Something slams into his face with enough force to send him reeling backwards and he lets out a shout, dropping to his ass on the floor. Mom steps around him, gun raised.

“Drop it! Drop the gun!” Mom shouts in her I-won’t-take-any-bullshit voice that Dean remembers well. The person who hit Dean is around the corner, out of Dean’s line of sight, so all he hears is a gun clatter to the floor. Mom keeps pointing the gun, her face stony.

“Kick it to me.”

The gun slides into view. Mom puts her foot on it but makes no attempt to pick it up.

“Dean, get up.”

Dean climbs to his feet, blotting blood from his nose. Mom steps aside, giving him a little room to come through the doorway. There’s another woman standing there, dark skin, short black hair, elegant eyebrows. She’s holding her hands in the air and her lips are pursed in irritation.

“Dean,” the woman says. “Dean and Mary Winchester?” She has a clipped British accent and she says their names with dripping condescension.

“Pick up her gun,” Mom says to Dean without taking her eyes off the woman. Dean squats and picks up the gun that the woman must have hit him with. He shoves it in his belt.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean says to the woman. Her glance flicks to him, studies him briefly, and then turns back to Mom.

“I should have expected to run into you here,” the woman says to Mom. “Your son is letting the demons out of hell and here you are, cleaning up.”

Mom’s mouth thins. She still has her gun trained on the woman and for a second Dean thinks that she’s going to pull the trigger. “Sam is not my son,” she replies.

 

##

 

Back downstairs, Mom has reluctantly holstered her gun and returned the other to the woman, but only after a prodigious splash of holy water. The woman says her name is Tamara, and she’s a hunter.

Mom sits at the base of the stairs, her elbows on her knees. Tamara stands by the front door, peering out the small window.

“Tamara,” Mom says musingly. “Now that I think of it, I remember a Tamara. Didn’t you hunt with your husband? Ivan?”

“Isaac,” Tamara says shortly.

Dean paces down the hall and comes back, hands in his pockets, tense. “I don’t think there’s anyone alive around here.”

“Except for you,” Mom says to Tamara. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Probably the same thing as you.” Tamara slants a glance at Dean. “Looking for Samuel.”

“How do you know he was the one to open the Devil’s Gate?”

“Word gets around. A hunter by the name of Bobby Singer figured out where the gate was, and he and the Harvelles went to try to stop it.” Tamara shrugs. “He called us to let us know what was going down, but we were a couple days out. By the time we got here, it was done.”

“Bobby said he saw Sam?”

Tamara shakes her head. “Bobby’s dead. Ellen and Bill are both dead. Their daughter Jo managed to get away, and she told us. Azazel was there and Sam was with him.”

Mom sags a little, and whether it’s in relief or in grief, Dean can’t tell. So Sam really is still alive. Dean’s only met the Harvelles a few times from when he and Mom stopped by the Roadhouse, and he only knows Bobby from a couple stories that Mom used to tell.

“Why are you looking for Sam?” Tamara asks Mom. She has her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes are dark.

Mom raises her eyes and stares at Tamara. “To stop him.”

Tamara gives a thin smile. “Good. Because the demons he let out of Hell murdered my husband, and when I find him, I’m planning on repaying the favor.”

Mom doesn’t lower her gaze, but something in her eyes softens. “I’m sorry.”

Tamara’s mouth twists. “Sure.”

 

##

 

At night sometimes Dean wonders what life would have been like if Mom died instead of Dad. All he remembers of Dad is big hands and a warm smile, and sometimes, if he tries hard, he can remember the rumble of a voice. Dad wouldn’t have led them on such an obsessive chase across the country looking for Azazel, Dean doesn’t think. No one could be as obsessive as Mom.

They part ways with Tamara outside of Cold Oak. The wet smell of death has settled into their sinuses and coated their tongues so well that they don’t notice the last body in the field until Dean cracks his shotgun to check the shells and a cloud of black flies rises to their left and then resettles. Mom takes out her journal and crosses out the second-to-last name on the list.

The sun is setting but now that Tamara has confirmed that Sam was the one to open the gate, they have no reason to stay here. They head back to the hotel to check out.

“We’ll head to the Roadhouse and talk to Jo. She might know something about where Sam and Azazel might be headed,” Mom says, neatly folding her clothes into a suitcase. There are already circles of sweat under the arms of her tank top, though she’s just showered. Dean can smell her shampoo. It’s the same stuff he uses but it smells nicer on her.

“Did you call her?” Dean zips up his own duffel and goes into the small bathroom for his shaving kit.

“No one’s answering, but that doesn’t mean anything. I wouldn’t be answering the phone after something like that either.” Mom shrugs, looking tired. “Her whole family _died_. God, when that happened to me—” She shakes her head and cuts herself off.

Dean picks up his shaving kit, looking somewhere to the left of his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. He can hear the subdued horror in his mother’s voice. _Her whole family died._ If Dean were a better person, he would feel that same horror, but instead he just feels a surge of bitterness.

 _I’m still here, Mom_ , he thinks.

 

##

 

The parking lot of the Roadhouse is empty when they arrive, and the front door is locked. Mom goes to the side door and rings the doorbell for a few minutes while Dean circles the house, looking for another entrance.

Jo’s car is parked around the back in the family lot. The back door is easy to pick. “Hey, Mom,” he calls, and when she appears around the corner he gestures to the door. She nods once approvingly and follows him into the house. He allows himself a second to glow.

They pass through the kitchen and into the main part of the bar, which is dark, chairs stacked on the tables. The air hangs still but there is no smell of death, which is reassuring. It had crossed Dean’s mind that Jo might have seen no reason to live after her parents had bought it.

“Jo?” Mom calls, heading into the hall. “Jo Harvelle? It’s Mary and Dean Winchester!”

There is a creak upstairs and they both freeze, looking up. Mom glances at Dean and he raises his shotgun just in case. The ceiling creaks again and then someone starts down the stairs.

Jo appears in the doorway with a shotgun. Her hair is tangled and there are circles under her eyes. Her clothes are wrinkled as if she has been sleeping in them. She levels the gun at them.

“What the hell do you want?” she says.

“Oh, Jo,” Mom says, heartbreak in her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“You should be.” Jo keeps the gun trained on the two of them. Dean holds his shotgun at his side.

“We ran into Tamara,” Dean says. “She told us what happened.”

“She mention the part where your brother murdered my parents?” Jo glares at him. “It wasn’t the demons who did it. It was him. All he had to do was point at them and he broke— he broke their—” She sucks in a breath, the end of the shotgun dipping.

“I’m so sorry,” Mom says again.

Jo lowers the gun completely and wipes her cheek. Mom takes a tentative step forward and Jo doesn’t raise the gun again, so she closes the distance between them and takes Jo into her arms. As soon as she does, Jo bursts into loud, inconsolable sobs. Dean stands awkwardly, looking away.

It turns out that Jo hasn’t eaten in two days, so Mom sends Dean into the kitchen and she walks Jo upstairs. Dean finds some eggs and bread and bacon in the fridge, so he makes them all fried egg sandwiches. He puts the plates on a bar tray and carries them upstairs.

Mom has gotten Jo into pajamas by then and combed her hair as if she’s a little girl. Jo sits with her head bowed, her hands resting on her knees, passively letting Mom brush her hair. For a second Dean feels a jolt of jealousy at the domestic scene but then Mom glances up at him and he sees that the sympathy and heartbreak has drained from her face, leaving her empty again. It is strangely comforting. Dean sets the tray on the end of the bed.

“Do you have any friends you can stay with?” Mom asks quietly.

“Yes,” Jo whispers. “I haven’t called anyone yet, but my mom’s sister lives in Nebraska.”

“I don’t think you should stay here by yourself.” Mom hands her one of the sandwiches and Jo holds it as if she doesn’t quite know what to do with it. Mom takes another and hands the last to Dean.

“You’re here because you want to know about Sam,” Jo says to the sandwich. “You want to know where he is.”

Mom glances at Dean over Jo’s head. “We’re hunting him down too,” she says.

“I don’t know where he went,” Jo says. “I barely got out of there alive. I didn’t stick around to watch him leave.”

Dean leans against her dresser. “We heard that Azazel wants him to lead the demons.”

Jo nods. “I wouldn’t be surprised. He could move things with his mind. He knew we were going to be there. He could just speak and you would have to do whatever he said. He told Bobby to eat his gun…”

Mom frowns, looking away. The sandwich is like lead in Dean’s stomach.

“Did they say where they were going to take the army of demons?”

“No.”

Mom shifts forward and pats Jo’s hand. “Eat,” she says. “You need it.”

Jo takes a halfhearted bite of her sandwich. Mom takes her own advice and begins to eat hers. Dean rubs his hands on his jeans and paces to the window. The parking lot is still empty. Hunters gossip; probably everyone has already heard the news about the Harvelles.

“We are going to stop them,” Mom says to Jo, her voice firm and quiet. “We are going to end them, do you understand? Your parents won’t die in vain.”

Jo sniffs. Mom gets up and gathers the plates. “I’ll wash these,” she says, piling them on the tray. Dean turns away from the window.

“I can get them,” he says.

“No, you cooked.” Mom leaves the room with the tray, leaving the two of them alone. Dean feels awkward again.

“She won’t let me come with you guys,” Jo says. Dean looks at her. She is looking up at him, her eyes intense.

“You want to come?”

“I want to kill those demons.” She doesn’t blink. “I want to kill Sam.”

“I can understand revenge,” Dean says. “But I think you need to leave it to us.”

Jo snorts. “Leave it to you? You’ve been doing a great job of it so far, haven’t you? You’ve been hunting Azazel for twenty three years now and you don’t have the slightest idea what’s going on.”

“We can take care of it on our own,” Dean snaps.

“I’ve hunted before. You know that. I’m not just some girl. I can hold my own and you know it.” Her eyes narrow and her voice gets quieter. “Or is it because you don’t want me tagging along with you and Mommy?”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What a sweet little family, you and Mommy, sharing hotel rooms, sleeping in the car together, inseparable. You think the other hunters don’t talk about it?” Her hands are relaxed on her lap and her voice is a fast whisper so Mom doesn’t overhear.

Dean tightens his hands into fists, although they both know he wouldn’t hit her. “You shut your mouth.”

“You really hunting Sam down to kill him? Or do you just want to drag him into your tight little family circle?”

Dean steps forward before he can stop himself and Jo shoots to her feet, meeting him nose to nose.

“I’m going to pretend that you’re just saying that because you’re grieving,” he hisses.

“I’m going to pretend that you just came here out of the kindness of your hearts,” she returns.

Dean glares. “Sam is a monster, and our job is to put him down.”

“That’s too bad,” she says, and her eyes flick to yellow discs.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean lets out half of a shout before his throat clamps shut and he hits the wall, squeezed by an invisible fist. Jo smiles.

“I struck a nerve there with the incest thing, didn’t I?” she says thoughtfully. “You’re so easy to manipulate. And so, so dumb.”

Dean can do nothing but glare at her. He can hear water running downstairs. Mom is still washing the dishes. Maybe she thinks that Jo will open up to Dean if they’re alone together.

“What do you think, Dean boy? Should I kill you in front of her, or should I leave your body up here to find?” Her eyes suddenly widen and her mouth makes an ‘o’. “Ah, I have an idea. Do you think, if I snapped your neck, that she would sell her soul to get you back? Or do you think she would just let you rot?”

Dean squirms in slow motion. There’s a knife in the back of his pants but he can’t bend his arm that way to reach it. Something tightens around his neck and he gags.

“I think she would sell her soul,” Jo says. “She knows better but she would do it anyway. So really, just think of this as a temporary goodbye.”

Whatever force is holding him takes a hold of his head and begins to turn, not fast but excruciatingly slow. Dean puts all of his strength into his arm, straining to reach behind his back. Something pops in his neck. He can see out the window now, see into the parking lot below. There’s a lone car in the lot. His head continues to turn and his neck pops again.

Something splashes and Jo lets out a startled noise and the pressure eases slightly. Dean turns his head. Jo is dripping water and looking faintly amused. Mom is in the doorway, holding a bucket, the rosary swinging in her hands.

Dean grabs the knife from the back of his pants in time to be slammed back against the wall again. Mom hits the opposite wall. Jo wipes wetness from her face.

“Is that it?” Jo asks, sounding a little disappointed. “The bucket of holy water? That was your attack?”

The first shotgun blast hits her a little to the left of her chest, spinning her sideways. The second gets her flank and she hits the bed. Tamara comes into the room, shotgun still raised, her other hand fisted around a wooden stake. She boots Jo in the chest, knocking her flat on the bed, and then the stake comes down into her gut, punching through her organs and digging deep into the mattress.

Dean staggers forward with the knife. He grabs Tamara’s shoulder and she whips her head around to look at him, half-raising the shotgun, but there is nothing he can do to save Jo so he lets go of her. Mom joins Tamara on the other side.

“Where is your army now?” Mom says to Jo. “Where is Sam leading them?”

Jo laughs. “Hey, Mary, Dean and I were just talking about what a nice lay you are,” she says wetly. “I remember kissing you.”

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas_ ,” Tamara begins, drowning out Mom’s angry noise.

“Where is he taking them?” Dean shouts at her. “Where is he now?”

Jo smiles, her teeth bloody. “Your baby brother thinks of you sometimes, you know. He wonders what you two are up to, living your lives without him, killing his brethren.”

“ _Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_.” Tamara keeps one hand on the stake, the shotgun aimed at the seeping wound in Jo’s gut. There is the outhouse stink of ruptured intestines and the sour smell of stomach bile filling the room.

“Tell me where he is!”

“He’s being nostalgic, Dean boy. He’s heading right back to where he became my pride and joy.” Jo winks at him.

“ _In nomine et virtute Domini Nostri Jesu Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis._ ”

The black smoke erupts from Jo’s throat in a cyclone and leaves a corpse behind.

 

##

 

“His pride and joy? What did he mean by that?” Tamara cleans the stake off with a towel.

Dean glances at Mom, who is tight-lipped.

“You didn’t need to kill her,” Dean says to Tamara.

“Oh, you’re welcome. Please, try not to overwhelm me with your gratitude.”

“Thanks for saving me,” he bites out. “But we could have done it without killing Jo.”

“This is war. There are casualties. There wasn’t a lot of time to do a catch and release. And that’s not what’s important here.”

Mom clears her throat. “I think we can take it from here.”

Tamara scowls. “Oh, don’t even start this. I am going to find Sam and I will hunt him down, whether you like it or not. Trying to keep me in the dark isn’t going to work.”

“Revenge will just get you killed,” Mom says softly.

“And you’re driven purely by thoughts of puppies and sugarplums?” Tamara lets out a bitter laugh. “Thanks, I don’t need your advice.”

“We can work together,” Dean speaks up. “We both have the same goals, and we can use each other.”

“You might need me to save your asses from walking into traps, but I don’t need anything from you.”

“Oh?” Mom asks mildly. “I suppose you’d better head on your way, then.”

Tamara scowls and stays right where she is.

“What are you planning to do first?” she asks Mom.

“Burn Jo,” Mom says.

“And then?”

Mom stays silent. Tamara turns to Dean.

“I wasn’t the one who killed Jo tonight; Azazel did, the moment he took her body. And how do you think he knew where to find her? Sam’s the one who knows things. He’s the one who must have told him that you’d come here looking for her.”

Dean’s brow pinches. It’s true; Azazel might have known where Jo was hiding, but no one knew that he and Mom were going to be visiting.

“Dean,” Mom says warningly.

“Your mom might have warm and fuzzy thoughts for Sam, but you don’t, do you?” Tamara says. Her eyes are fixed on his face, watching for a reaction. “You know what he really is.”

Dean flicks his eyes at his mother, who is watching him impassively. He looks at Tamara again.

“Lawrence, Kansas,” he admits. “That was where we lived when Azazel took him.”

Mom lets out a disgusted noise. Tamara studies him for a second longer, then nods.

“Fine.” She turns and stalks to the door without another word.

 

##

Jo’s body, washed of blood, is like an empty glove. Mom wraps her in clean sheets, ties them tight, and carries the body out back. Dean gets a hatchet from the trunk and dismantles wooden chairs from the bar. They pile them on a patch of gravel in the back lot by Jo’s car. A plank of wood from a table makes a platform for Jo’s body. Mom arranges the bundled form with painstaking care, as if it’s a swaddled infant.

There’s a can of rock salt in the back of the bar, and Dean sprinkles some over Jo’s body. The crystals patter onto the white sheet, weighing it down, showing the faint impression of Jo’s cheek under the sheet, her closed lips. Dean had kissed her once, a few years ago, just to see what it was like. She was small and blond and muscled but she smelled like a girl, something soft and powdery, and it had seemed wrong somehow. When she asked him what was wrong, he couldn’t explain it, and that was the last time he’d ever kissed her.

“They were good people,” Mom says, her eyes focused on the corpse. “They were good hunters.” She uncaps the gas can and begins to splash it on the pile of wood, walking around the pyre in a slow circle.

“They could have told us what they were planning with the Devil’s Gate,” Dean says.

Mom pours the last of the gas over Jo’s body and steps back. “No one trusts us.” She doesn’t sound bitter, which is a surprise. Dean glances at her but her eyes are still fixed on Jo’s body.

Dean takes out a matchbook from the bar and scrapes one across the back, a bite of sulphur and yellow. He touches the lit match to the rest of them and they all sear to life.

“I don’t think Sammy’s evil,” Dean says to the book of matches.

Mom says nothing. He hears her breathing evenly. He tosses the book onto the pyre and it goes up with a whump.

“It’ll be a few days before Tamara realizes Sam’s not in Lawrence,” Mom says finally. “We still have a head start.”

 

##

 

Since as far back at Dean can remember, Mom has always bought a cake on May 2nd. No matter where they are in the country, no matter what else is going on in their lives, they always stop somewhere and have cake.

The Sam they knew, Mary’s infant son Sam and Dean’s baby brother Sam, only lived for six months. They don’t know what kind of cake he would have liked, or even if he liked it at all. Every year they walk down the supermarket aisles or peruse the diner menu and try to decide which to try this year, something different every time, as if some day they’ll hit on Sam’s favorite dessert and they’ll somehow just know. Dean thinks sometimes that Mom is just looking for a part of Sam to hold onto—all this time and she doesn’t even know if Sam likes _cake_ —but he doesn’t blame her for that.

It would have been so much easier if Sam had just died, like Dad did.

The diner is nearly empty at three in the afternoon. They’d driven for hours until Dean realized that Mom was too involved in her own thoughts to even think about food, so he had pulled over at the next diner he saw.

Mom brings her journal with her into the diner and spreads it out on the table while the waitress pours them water and brings them menus. Dean flicks through the pages of the menu briefly, then goes to the dessert list on the back, folds the menu over and puts it on top of Mom’s journal.

Mom stares at it blankly for a full ten seconds before her expression clears. She glances up at him and something tight unravels in her eyes. The corner of her mouth tilts up. When she smiles, she looks softer and younger. He wishes she could smile like that forever.

“Is it your turn to pick, or mine?” she asks.

“Yours,” Dean lies.

Mom rests her chin on her hand and looks down at the menu again. The sunlight in the diner window picks out the gold in her hair.

“We’ve tried all of these before,” she says after a moment, sounding wistful.

“We’ll have to start making it ourselves,” Dean jokes. They had tried that once, back when they had a place with a kitchen. The results had been spectacularly bad, and it was one of the best memories Dean had of his mother, tasting the cake and pretending that it wasn’t terrible, then giving up and going out to buy one from the store.

Mary covers her eyes with one hand and pokes a finger at the menu. She uncovers her eyes.

“Pecan,” she says, sounding pleased.

Dean reaches across the table and closes her journal. She looks down at it and the smile drops off her face. “Dean…” she says with a sigh.

“Just for now,” Dean says.

“We don’t have time to stop looking for him,” Mom says. She reaches for the journal but he doesn’t move his hand. “Dean,” she says again, a note of warning in her voice.

“What if he’s lying?” Dean peers up into her face. He knows he’s going too far but he can’t stop himself.

Mom takes a minute to respond. Finally she draws in a breath. “About what?”

“About where Sam will be? Demons lie, right? What if he’s lying? Why do we even trust him?”

She glances at the menu as if the answers lie in there. “Demons don’t always lie.”

Dean waits a second. Mary waits, her mouth growing tighter. He bites his tongue, then blurts: “When did Azazel kiss you?”

This time she sends him a cool look. Her eyes are dark and unamused. “I didn’t say they always tell the truth, either.”

He bites off his next question, unsatisfied.

Sam would be twenty-four today.

 

##

 

They arrive in New Orleans late the next day, curving into the city on I-10. The heat lies in a haze over the city, thick as wool.

Fifteen years ago, the parking garage was in pretty constant use from the surrounding businesses. Mom had brought Dean into the city that summer when the cluster of disappearances hit the news. Locals gone missing, no pattern to the disappearances. Mom had checked the houses of the victims and found traces of sulphur. Demons.

Now the parking garage is unused. The storefronts around it are all boarded up and some still have the big spraypainted Xs on the fronts. It’s not quite a year since Hurricane Katrina, and this neighborhood isn’t anywhere near the tourist trap of the French Quarter. These businesses won’t see enough money to rebuild for years, if ever. I-10 stretches overhead. Further down the street are the tent cities, thousands of homeless living underneath the overpass. Dean pulls the Impala to a stop at the curb one block away.

“What’s the plan?” Dean asks.

Mary closes her journal and taps her fingers on her knee. “Hold off the demons long enough to take Sam alive.”

“He can kill us with his brain.”

“We have a tranquilizer gun in the trunk. Get him before he gets you.” Her face is impassive but there could be a smile in her eyes somewhere. Dean takes what he can get.

“What if there are other kids there?”

“There probably aren’t any left, and if there are, they can kill you too. Tranq them if you can. Otherwise, they’re better off dead.”

“If we can save Sam, we can save them too.”

The spark disappears from her eyes and her lips curl up, fake and bitter. “You think we’re actually going to be able to save Sam?”

He wants to say, _you’ve based your entire life on the idea_ , but he knows that will only cause more trouble. He nods once. “Okay.”

They get out of the car. Mom opens the trunk and tosses him the tranquilizer gun and a shotgun packed with rocksalt. She takes the other shotgun and a handful of crosses and holy water, shoving them into the pockets of her modified coat. It’s far too hot for the coat, something like ninety degrees with a hundred percent humidity, but the coat has pockets for just about anything.

The brush around the parking garage has grown up tall and prickly. Garbage has accumulated in corners and the poured concrete shows signs of old cracks. This close to the tent city, there should be homeless living here. Just inside the entrance are a few flattened cardboard boxes and a blanket but it’s been abandoned.

Their footsteps scrape through crumbled concrete. Dean holds the shotgun out in front of him. The tranq gun is in his belt. His other hand holds the flashlight, sweeping through the shadows left and right. Somewhere high above them, something drips. Mom moves slightly ahead of him, going towards the ramp heading down. Dean follows.

 

##

 

Fifteen years ago, they came here in search of the missing locals. No pattern, no clues, nothing but sulphur. Dean was twelve and Mom made him stay in the motel room while she went out tracking leads.

It was not the first time Dean had stayed alone in a motel room. Hell, Dean had been a latchkey kid since he was four. Mommy had work to do sometimes that wasn’t suitable for children. _Mommy’s gotta go save some lives_ , she would tell him, giving him a hug. _You be a good boy and don’t cause any trouble. I don’t want them to have to take you away._

Dean didn’t want that either.

He knew enough to stay in the room with the door locked, watching television in bed until Mom came back. He could never sleep until she got back and so he would keep the television on pretty much constantly. He got to be _really good_ at Jeopardy, although the questions never had anything to do with real life. _I’ll take ‘Ten Ways to Settle a Ghost’, Alex._

Sometimes he was really, really angry with Azazel for taking his little brother. If Sammy were still here, he would have someone to watch television with. Someone to keep him company when Mom was off hunting.

It would be a few years before he would realize that if Sammy were still around, Mom wouldn’t have a reason to hunt. That, in time, would make him feel worse. Apparently Dean alone wasn’t a good enough reason to settle down and have a normal life.

Around ten pm, he got thirsty and his junk food stash was sorely lacking in Coke. He got some cash from Mom’s bag and put his eye to the peephole. No one in the hallway. He opened the door and stepped out, leaving the door closed but unlocked.

The vending machine was around the corner. He got a Coke, pocketed the change and then came back around the corner. He stopped dead when he saw a man at the door to their room, knocking.

For a moment he thought about turning back around and hiding until the man left, but he head left the door unlocked and soon the man would try the handle. There were guns in that room. Mom had told him what would happen if anyone found their weapon stash. Words like “foster care” and “ward of the state” had been used.

Dean cleared his throat and started forward. “Is there a problem?” He tried to make it sound calm and maybe a little threatening but it somehow ended up wavery and high.

The man turned and Dean recognized him as the manager. “Is your mom around?”

“She’s sleeping,” Dean said. He turned the Coke in his hands, the condensation making his palms slick. “Christo,” he added, just in case.

The man blinked, looking faintly confused. “Her credit card was declined. I’ll need another one.”

“Could you come back in the morning?”

“No, kid, I can’t.”

“Hang on a sec.” Dean squeezed between the man and the door, slipped inside, and then shut the door after himself. Mom’s bag was on the bed, where he had taken cash for the machine. He tossed the Coke down and flipped through her wallet. What name had she used for this motel?

“Where’s your mom?” The man’s voice in the doorway made him jump. He’d pushed the door open and was now looking around the room.

“She, uh, went to the grocery store. She’ll be back any minute,” Dean said hastily.

The man stared at him. “Nothing’s open at this hour.”

“It was an emergency.”

The man looked unimpressed. “She out partying? Is that it?”

“No, she…we were hungry, and she said she was going to get some food. I swear she’ll be back any minute.”

“I can’t have kids staying by themselves here. I’ll have to call the police.”

“Please don’t. She’s going to be back soon. I’m twelve, I can stay by myself for five minutes.”

“Maybe I should wait around then.” The man came further into the room.

Dean remembered the open bag of weapons on the floor between the two double beds. He grabbed a twenty from the wallet. “I can pay you!” he blurted.

The man raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

There were three twenties in the wallet. Dean pulled them all out and held them out to the man. The man took it, folded them and put them in his pocket.

“Your mom have a cell phone?”

“Yeah.”

The man nodded to the phone on the table. “Call her. Tell her she’d better get her ass back here as soon as possible.”

“I paid you!” Dean said, betrayed.

“And I should call the cops anyway!” the man returned. “I’m giving her a chance to get back here first! Give her a call or I’m going to make a call of my own.”

Dean picked up the phone. Mom had told him never to call her cell phone when hunting, but she would be extremely pissed if the police came. If the police came, they would take him away. He dialed.

The phone rang twice and then Mom’s voice snapped, “This had better be important.”

“The manager is here,” Dean said. “He said your credit card was declined.”

“Dammit, Dean, why did you answer the door?”

“I was getting a Coke from the machine.”

The silence on the other end of the phone was cold. “Okay,” Mom said finally. “Give him the Mastercard. The one with the name Susan Winkler.”

“He says he’s going to call the police unless you come back here right now,” Dean whispered.

Another silence, longer this time. He heard her exhale and then the dial tone cut in, impossibly loud. He put the phone back down in the cradle.

“She’s coming,” he said to the manager.

Mom showed up half an hour later, appearing suddenly in the doorway without any sound to announce her presence. The manager was sitting in the armchair by the door, watching the television. Dean was sitting on the bed, hugging his knees, acutely aware of the bag of weapons between the beds but unable to zip it up and hide it without the manager knowing.

“Mom,” said Dean in relief.

“Did you give him the right card?” Mom said without looking at him.

“Yeah.”

“Then I think we’re done here.” Mom said to the man.

The man got out of the armchair. “Next time you want to go to Bourbon Street, hire a fucking babysitter,” he said.

Mom said nothing, her mouth tight. The man left and Mom locked the door behind him, then picked up her duffel bag, tossed it on the bed next to Dean, and started to pack with jerky movements. Dean hesitated, then scrambled to get his own bag.

“Someone saw two of the missing people walking into a parking garage by I-10,” Mom said to the duffel bag. “Whatever the demons are doing, it’s in there, and it’s happening right now.” She zipped the bag with one angry yank. “Now it’s a little too late to check into another hotel, so you’re going to stay in the car while I go and take care of business, and we’re both going to hope that this delay hasn’t cost anyone their life. Okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean mumbled.

They were packed and in the car within ten minutes, which was something that Mom and he had practiced exhaustively in the past. Mom drove carefully within the speed limit, though her hands were very tight on the wheel. She finally pulled into the parking lot of a Home Depot, driving all the way to the back corner of the lot, and shut off the car.

“Get under the blanket and stay there,” she said. Dean slid into the footwell in the back seat, the blanket around himself. He heard Mom slam the door shut and lock it, and then silence.

He stared at the blackness behind his eyelids, counting slowly. He had reached one thousand when he heard someone rap sharply on the hood three times, their usual signal, and then Mom’s key in the lock. She slid into the front seat and shut the door.

“Too late,” she said.

 

##

 

The smell is so familiar that at first Dean doesn’t know if he really smells it or if it is still caught in the folds of his jacket from before. The smell of violent death.

The first woman is sprawled in a spraypainted circle ringed with unrecognizable symbols, her arms and legs stretched out in the cardinal directions. She was at one point wearing a flowery summer dress, but it’s been pulled down to expose her swollen breasts and the remains of her rounded belly. The fetus is in a circle of its own a few feet away, its ribs open like fingers, its organs missing.

Dean shines his flashlight on the body and two rats flee into the shadows. Mom reaches into her pocket and takes out her cell phone. He holds the flashlight steady as she takes a picture.

“This one, too,” she says. He moves the beam to the fetus. The camera phone clicks.

“Do you know the symbols?” Dean asks.

“No.” Mom slips her phone back in her pocket and moves forward again, gun out. Dean plays the beam of light over the ground in front of them. After a few more feet, they reach another two bodies. The mother looks younger this time, maybe only sixteen. Like the last one, the fetus looks to be fully formed, perhaps eight or nine months.

“This isn’t random violence. They’re doing this for a purpose.” Mom glances ahead into the shadows. “I don’t want to imagine what would require ritual sacrifice of pregnant women.”

Someone laughs. “Can’t be anything good.”

They both turn towards the voice. Dean’s flashlight picks out an old woman standing just ten feet from them, her back hunched. Her eyes are black holes in her face.

Mom raises the shotgun and fires. Rock salt pelts the woman and she stumbled back with a grunt. A footstep scrapes on the other side of them and Dean swings his shotgun around. There’s a man there in layers of old clothes, his face like wrinkled paper. He smiles and Dean shoots him in the chest.

An invisible force grabs him behind his sternum and slams him to the ground. His jacket scrapes on the pavement and he keeps his grip tight on the shotgun. The force pulls on his gun and he shoots blindly into the ceiling.

“Holy water,” Mom gasps, and he gropes in his jacket. The bottle is plastic and the cap pops off easily with a flick of his thumb. He squeezes the bottle and water squirts into the darkness in an arc around him. The pressure lets go.

Mom’s gun shoots again. Dean gets to his knees and then the force comes back, stronger, like an iron fist squeezing him and slamming to the floor. His head bounces on the pavement. He drops the shotgun.

Someone steps over him and looks down. It’s too dark to see anything but the silhouette of a man. Dean clenches his fist on his flashlight and twists it, trying to point it up.

Mom shoots and rock salt splatters around them. The man over him lurches forward, then swings a hand out. The gun clatters to the floor and slides with the sound of scraping metal. Dean uses the distraction to point the beam up into the man’s face.

Sam squints away from the light, his eyes yellow. The flashlight rips out of Dean’s hand and goes spinning away. Dean’s head slams back into the pavement again and in the period of white fuzz he hears another gun go off. Sam swats something off his neck. The tranquilizer dart drops to the floor.

Mom’s footsteps slap the ground. The iron fist eases from around Dean’s body. He looks up in time to see Sam’s knees buckle. He rolls out of the way and Mom grabs Sam, her arms around him, lowering him to the ground.

Dean grabs his shotgun and shoots blindly at the old man, who retreats into the shadows again. Mom heaves Sam’s arm over her neck and staggers to her feet.

“Help me,” she says.

Dean gets Sam’s other arm and the two of them move quickly, around the two pregnant woman, up the ramp into the light.


	3. Chapter 3

Samuel opens his eyes when the woman splashes water in his face.

He blinks at her, water dripping from his chin. She meets his gaze with cold eyes, her expression stony. Her dark blond hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail. She could be pretty if she didn’t look so hard. He tests the bindings on his wrists behind the chair. They’re tight. There’s a devil’s trap over his head.

“You must be Mary,” he says. Her gaze flickers.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas,_ ” she says instead of answering. “ _Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica._ ”

There’s a young man standing behind her, watching them both with curiosity. He’s taller than the woman, with close-cropped brown hair. They have the same eyes, the same lips. Samuel has never seen this man before but Father has told him stories of the two of them. _They lie together like a man with his wife, Samuel. Aren’t you glad I took you away from that?_

“So that makes you Dean, right?” Samuel continues.

Dean glances at the woman, who is ignoring Samuel’s questions. She makes no motion to silence him so he looks back at Samuel.

“Uh, yeah,” he says.

Samuel nods. “I’m Samuel.”

“I know.”

The woman finishes the exorcism and there is a pause. Nothing seems to happen. Samuel raises his eyebrows.

“Was that supposed to do something?” he asks.

Without answering, the woman goes into the next ritual, a more archaic exorcism that Samuel recognizes. He’s mildly impressed. She knows her stuff. Father had told him how the woman, in her desperation and selfishness, chased after him and flailed at the supernatural forces of the world in desperation, but he hadn’t realized until now that the woman was good at it. Thinking back, it shouldn’t come as such a surprise. If they weren’t good at it, they would have died ages ago.

Dean is watching him, his eyes flickering over his face as if he’s memorizing it. Samuel meets his gaze again and the man holds it.

 _They chase you for their own selfish purposes, Samuel. They’re afraid you’re tainting the Winchester name by being with me. They want to silence you._

The second exorcism ends and the woman frown. “It’s not going to work,” Samuel says to her. “I’m not a demon.”

“You’re not Sam,” the woman spits. “You are not the Sam I gave birth to.”

“Of course not.” He laughs at the ridiculousness. “It’s been twenty-four years.”

“He corrupted you.” The woman moves towards the bed where she has spread out her tools. She takes out a syringe and fills it with holy water. “He turned you into something like him. You are not supposed to be like this. You are not evil. He’s twisted you.” She puts the needle into his arm. He can hear the fanaticism in her voice. She really believes what she’s saying. The depth of her conviction is startling.

He watches the plunger sink on the syringe. “Are you saying that because you feel guilty?” The plunger depresses all the way and the woman pulls out the needle. A jewel of blood wells in the crook of Samuel’s arm.

“Guilty?” The woman holds the tissue against the blood, applying pressure. Her fingers cup his elbow, warm against his skin. For a second he can see flickers of something— _a crying infant, a burning ceiling, the desperate need to make things right_ —and he flinches, startled. She looks up into his face. “I have nothing to feel guilty about.”

Samuel pulls his arm out of her grip and the strange feelings disappear. Dean is watching the exchange curiously. Samuel takes in a breath, fumbling to gather his thoughts. “You think that if you can save me, you don’t have to feel guilty over selling me to him in the first place.”

“ _I didn’t sell you._ ” The woman takes the tissue and crumples it, tossing it in the trashcan. She avoids Dean’s look and goes to the bed to page furiously through her journal.

“No?” Samuel says, forcing a laugh and directing his question towards Dean. “Did she ever tell you what happened? Father told me. John Winchester died and Father resurrected him in return for me.”

Dean looks at the woman, who hesitates, then meets his gaze defiantly. “It’s not true.” She turns to Samuel. “He’s using you as a tool. He’s not teaching you these things for your benefit. He’s doing it so he can use you for his own ends.”

“He hasn’t sold me to anyone yet, so he has that going for him.” Samuel turns to Dean. “I know he’s using me. There’s someone he’s trying to free, and he’ll use everyone he can to free him, even if that means turning his own son into a tool. Sound like someone you know?”

“Mom’s not using me,” Dean says firmly, his expression closing.

Samuel leans forward as far as he can in his bindings and looks up under his eyelashes at Dean. “You’re just like me, Dean.”

“I’m going to save you,” the woman says, turning to them with her journal. Her voice softens as she meets his eyes again. “I’m going to break whatever bond he has over you. You can come with us, Sam. Where you should have been all along. We’ll be a _family._ ”

God, they’re just like Father said. Sick, sad, stupid humans.

“Family? Is that what you call it? You two and your obsessions, spending your life being miserable out of penance for something you did two decades ago?” He brings his wrists in front of him, the rope dropping to the floor. “I’m happy where I am.” He stands and pulls the air in the room around him, pushing them back. The woman grabs for her tranquilizer gun again but Samuel slaps it into the far wall with a burst of telekinesis. He turns to Dean one last time.

“Good luck,” he says. Dean stares at him in shock. He walks out the door.

 

##

 

Packing and moving to another motel seems pointless but they do it anyway. Sam knows where they’ve been staying so it’s best to just stay on the move.

In the new motel room, Mom sits on the edge of the bed and rubs her temples. She looks older than she should, old and tired and angry.

“He doesn’t know anything about us,” Dean says. “He was just trying to upset us.”

Mom says nothing, her eyes closed. He sits down on the bed next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t push him away so he slides his hand around her waist, pulling her against him in half of a hug.

“I didn’t sell him to Azazel,” Mom says quietly.

“I know.”

“Azazel only told him that to make him hate me. He thinks Sam won’t come back to us if he hates me.” Mom opens her eyes and stares at her hands.

Dean reaches out and cups her chin, turning her face to him. Her eyes are wet and she’s focused somewhere else.

“We can save him,” Mom whispers.

Dean leans in and kisses her. When he pulls back, she’s focused on him now, her gaze suddenly sharp and immediate. She pushes up into another kiss, her hands finding their way under his shirt, clutching at his back.

Dean grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it up over her head. She raises her arms to help him. Her body is tightly corded with muscle, hard and sinewy and scarred with past attacks. He remembers stitching her side when she gashed it by falling through rotten floorboards; he remembers the night of sweaty, feverish anxiety waiting to see if she’d been poisoned after the lamia bite that left twin holes in her upper arm. They’re not the memories that most children have of their mother but Dean cherishes them, because for that length of time, however short it was, she needed him.

Her breasts are soft as silk under his hands. He reaches for the back of her bra and unhooks it. She pushes herself back on the bed, shrugging out of her bra, pulling him with her. He straddles her and leans in to kiss her again, rubbing his knuckles over the underside of her breasts. Her hands go to the button on his jeans.

“I love you,” he whispers against her lips. He kisses the tiny scar on the underside of her chin, then her collarbone, and then rubs his lips over the skin of her breast. Her soft brown nipple pinches into a nub and she moans when he takes it into his mouth, rolling it under his tongue.

She yanks down the zipper on his pants and slides her hand inside, grabbing a hold of him in a firm grip. He lifts his mouth from her breast and gasps. “M-Mom—”

She slaps him and he sits back, swallowing. “Mary,” he says. “Mary, I’m sorry.”

For a stretched span of a moment he thinks she will get off the bed and leave him here but finally she reaches up and cups his cheek where she slapped it. She brings him down for another kiss. He pulls her pants down and she kicks them off, wrapping her thighs around his waist. She kisses him hard, desperate, her eyes closed.

He reaches down between them and she’s hot and wet against his fingers. She bucks against his palm when his fingers slide inside.

“Please, Dean,” she whispers. “Please.” She gasps, her head tipping back, as he crooks his fingers and twists his wrist. “Dean, I need you.”

He sits back on his heels and rummages through the duffel on the bed. Underneath his clothes and a few bottles of holy water is the box of condoms. Mary props herself up on her elbows, her legs still wrapped around his waist. He hastily rips open the condom, dropping it onto the bed. Mary takes it and takes a hold of him, rolling it onto his cock. Her hands are rough and callused but gentle. She grabs him tightly and squeezes him from tip to base and he surges in her hand, groaning.

“I need you,” she whispers again, lifting her hips. He leans in, hitching his hands under her thighs, and eases himself into her.

Her eyes are closed as they fuck and he watches her eyelashes flicker against her cheeks, watches the red rise in her skin and her breathing hasten. She is wrapped around him, holding him tightly, absolutely and completely _his_.

“Dean, oh Dean,” she whispers, shuddering around him. “Oh, oh—oh _shit_.” Her eyes are open. She’s looking over his shoulder.

The lights are flickering. He hadn’t noticed. Mary pushes at his chest, drilling her heel into the back of his knee. He rolls off of her and that’s when the windows shatter.

Glass explodes into the room, pelting the floor and the bed, slicing red into Dean’s thigh and arm. He hears the bathroom mirror breaking. There’s a noise, something so loud and massive that he almost can’t hear it. Mom scrambles off the bed, going for the shotgun. He grabs the holy water and the cross from his duffel, shielding his face as the light bulb in the ceiling fixture pops and rains down on them.

Mom swings the shotgun around, aiming wildly. The last of the glass falls out of the window frame, tinkling onto the floor. The immense noise is gone, or has shifted out of the range of hearing. The lights are out and it’s just the streetlights outside that are illuminating the room.

Nothing happens.

“What the hell was that?” Dean gasps. He feels absurd, nude from the waist down, his erection rapidly deflating. Mom’s face is expressionless and she doesn’t answer him.

Dean leans over the edge of the bed and gets the tranquilizer gun. Mom circles the bed, moving to the window, stepping carefully over the glass. She peers out the window, then retreats again.

“They must be coming,” she says. “They’re planning something. Get dressed. We have to go.”

 

##

 

It happened for the first time in Hades, Texas, almost a year after the parking garage in New Orleans. Dean was thirteen.

There was an outbreak of people murdering their own families and then denying having anything to do with the crimes. At first it seemed like possession, although when they got to town and checked out the crime scenes, there were no traces of sulphur, and the suspects never mentioned losing time. Instead they said that they hadn’t even been around at all when the murders took place. One was at the supermarket. One was at the gym. One admitted he was with his mistress while his family was being slaughtered.

Mom interviewed suspects while Dean did homework. They had rented the downstairs apartment in a duplex and Mom had promised that they would stay for the entirety of the last two months of Dean’s year in the eighth grade. He hated leaving school mid-year, having to readjust to new classmates, a new building, a new town for just a little while until they moved again. He didn’t have time to make friends, and didn’t stick around long enough to work his way through the inevitable pecking order of the school, and so he was always on the outskirts.

When it got dark, Dean found a box of macaroni and cheese in the pantry and cooked it on the stove. Mom came in when he was scooping it into a bowl. She silently dropped into a chair and he took down a second bowl.

“Did you find out what it is?” Dean asked, filling the second bowl and putting it in front of her.

“Yes.” She rested her chin on her fist, blinking slowly at the bowl. “Did you finish your homework?”

Dean nodded, sitting down across from her. She stirred her macaroni with her spoon, frowning into it, and then got up and walked out of the room. He heard her get in the shower.

Later, after Dean had eaten both bowls so they wouldn’t go to waste, he saw the flickering lights of the television on in the living room. Mom only ever watched television when she was upset. He stood in the doorway and watched the black and white shapes move across the screen, Sam in his bowl cut and jeans, the corpse at his feet, the woman struggling against an invisible hand. The tape ended and Mom rewound to the beginning again. She had watched the tape so many times that it was more static than image now.

He came into the room and stood a few feet behind the couch, watching the tape as well. He had seen it enough times that sometimes he would see it playing on the back of his eyelids when he tried to fall asleep at night. The living room window was open, letting in the warm evening breeze, mild enough that it didn’t disturb the lines of salt in the window.

“Are you hungry?” Dean asked quietly. “I can make you something else.”

Mom didn’t flinch, which told him she’d known he was there. “Go to bed, Dean,” she said.

He waited a second longer, then retreated back to the doorway. When he was halfway down the hall to his bedroom, the doorbell rang.

Dean returned to the doorway. Mom was up, her gun drawn as she went to the door and looked out the window beside it. She stood there looking for so long that Dean thought that something had hypnotized her or possessed her just by looking, but then she grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open, leveling her gun at the person standing there.

It was Sam, his hair in that same bowl-cut, his eyes big. He was looking anxious and soft and he said “Mommy?” in a small, scared voice. Mom didn’t lower her gun but she didn’t fire it, either.

“You’re a shapeshifter,” Mom said finally. “You’re the one who’s been killing those families.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam said, looking past her to Dean. He looked so confused. “Dean, is that you?”

“Don’t wear his face,” Mom said. “Don’t use that voice.”

Sam wrapped his arms around himself and began to cry fat, childish tears. His clothes were slightly oversized, making him look small. He bent over as if it hurt to stand. “Mommy, it’s me. Let me in. I got away from them. I missed you.”

Mom’s gun lowered, not all the way but enough that Dean knew she didn’t want to shoot. Sam didn’t make a move, still crying.

“Sammy,” Mom said. She ejected the clip in her gun and put the clip in her pocket, then holstered the gun. Then she held out her arms and Sammy stepped into them.

Mom sat on the floor, pulling Sam into her lap. He curled up against her, one arm around her waist, his body shuddering with sobs. “Sammy, it’s okay,” Mom said quietly, her arms around him, rocking him slightly from side to side.

Sam buried his face in her neck and Mom rested her ear on the top of his head, her face turned towards Dean. Her eyes slid over Dean as if he wasn’t there. He waited for her to give him a signal, to tell him to go get the silver bullets from the weapon bag in the bedroom, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t even look at him.

Dean turned on his heel and went back down the hall into Mom’s bedroom. The weapon bag was at the foot of her bed. He searched through it until he found the box of specially made silver bullets that they had left over from a werewolf hunt. He pushed them into the clip of Mom’s Browning 9mm, the one she had taught him to shoot on, and then he put the clip in the gun.

When he returned to the room, Sam and Mom hadn’t moved on the floor. Sam had stopped crying and was just resting against her, his hand dangling down next to her gun. It was okay because the clip was ejected, but then Sam shifted his hand and Dean saw the knife.

“Get away from her,” Dean said, pointing the gun. He moved forward three quick steps and Sam jerked the knife out of Mom’s belt, bringing it up to her neck, sliding off her lap to the ground beside her to use her as a shield.

“What are you doing, Dean?” Sam asked, his voice still confused and childlike but his eyes hard.

“You’re not Sam,” Dean said. “You look like the Sam in the video but that was from a year ago. He wouldn’t have recognized me because he was six months when he last saw me. You’re just a shapeshifter. Get away from my mother.”

“Mommy, don’t let him shoot me. He’s going to shoot me.” Sam widened his eyes, looking at Mom, although the knife he was holding made it less effective.

Mom said nothing, not looking at either of them. She sat passively, waiting.

“Get away from her,” Dean commanded, his voice shaking a little.

“Drop the gun or I’ll cut her throat,” Sam replied, dropping the act.

“Mom…” Dean begged.

“Do it,” Mom whispered.

Dean couldn’t tell which one of them she was talking to, but he pulled the trigger anyway.

Sam’s body snapped back, the bullet catching him in the side of the face. Mom flinched back at the blood that sprayed over her. Sam’s knife lurched, nicking Mom’s chin before his arm sagged and his body tipped sideways. Dean ran forward, grabbing the knife from his hand. Sam’s one remaining eye stared up at him, blank.

“Mom, are you okay?” Dean asked, reaching out and pressing his fingers against the cut in Mom’s chin. It was shallow enough that it wasn’t serious, although it might scar.

She pulled her chin out of his grip, turning her face away. Dean pushed Sam’s body off of Mom and put the gun down on the floor, pulling at Mom’s arm. “Mom, please. Are you okay?”

“Get away from me,” she whispered, twisting out of his grip. She grabbed Sam’s body again, heaving it up onto her lap.

“Mommy,” Dean said, pushing Sam’s body away. “Mommy, that’s not him.”

She slapped him across the cheek, her gaze fixing on him finally. “I said get away from me.”

“It’s not him!” He reached for the gun again, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he was planning on doing with it—empty it into Sam, maybe, or make Mom agree with him, or something—but she knocked his hand away, taking the gun and ejecting the clip. She threw the clip across the room with enough force that it cracked the lamp by the television.

“You knew it wasn’t him,” Dean said. His voice was cracking and his eyes were blurry. “You took out the clip because you didn’t want him to get your gun. Why—?”

Mom took Sam’s hand into both of hers, looking down into his ruined face. Wetness dripped off her chin and it wasn’t blood.

“He’s not even your son. _I am_. Mom….” He reached out and took hold of her wrists, trying to pry her hands from Sam’s.

Mom abruptly let go of Sam’s hand and grabbed his arm. “Is this what you want from me?” she muttered, dragging him against her, one arm wrapping tightly around his back. He flopped awkwardly against her lap, trying to regain his balance. She took hold of his face, forcing him to look at her, her grip hard and painful. “Is this what you want? Attention? Your brother is held hostage by demons, forced to do god knows what to stay alive, and you want my attention?” She pushed their mouths together, mashing his lips against his teeth. Startled, Dean twisted his face away and her lips skimmed his cheek and ear.

“I thought this was what you wanted,” she said. She took his hand and pushed it against her breast. “You wanted me, right? Have me.”

“M-Mom…” He pulled his hand away.

“Don’t you dare change your mind now.” Her palm flattened against the front of his pants, gripping and squeezing. “Don’t you dare.” Her cheek, rubbing against his, was wet.

He was hard, abruptly and embarrassingly so, and he heard Mom let out a breath, although he didn’t know if she was disappointed or vindicated.

She unbuttoned the top button on his jeans. “Is this what you want?” she said quietly, and he didn’t answer.


	4. Chapter 4

Azazel is waiting in front of the parking garage when Samuel returns. He’s wearing a homeless man, his face craggy and old, but Samuel would know his Father anywhere.

“I’m sorry,” Samuel says immediately as he gets close. “I underestimated them. I didn’t think they could get me.”

Azazel comes forward, moving in a slow shuffle. The body has a lame leg. Sam can smell sour sweat when Azazel claps a hand on the back of Sam’s neck, pulling him close. Azazel’s yellow eyes search his out and for a second, Samuel can’t tell how bad his punishment is going to be.

Then Azazel’s face shifts into mild amusement. “And how was the family reunion?” he drawls.

Samuel swallows relief, meeting his Father’s gaze. “They’re just like you said they were. They’re desperate and stupid. Dean doesn’t even see that she’s manipulating him.”

“How naïve,” Azazel says dryly. His eyes go heavy-lidded and his smile widens a little. “He loves her too much to care. Do you love me, boy?”

“Of course,” Samuel whispers.

Azazel leans in and kisses him on the forehead. “Good,” he says, and lets go of him.

 

##

 

Dean and Mary spend two hours driving before pulling into a rest stop to stretch their legs. Two motels in one night is their limit and now Dean is pretty sure that the only plan they have is “get away.”

Mary goes into the restroom and Dean buys two coffees, then sits down at one of the molded plastic tables, stirring cream into his own coffee. The coffee smells good although when he raises it to his lips it tastes burnt.

The lights overhead flicker and buzz, and someone drops into the seat across from him.

He lifts his head, startled. The man stares back at him, his face impassive. He has dark hair and the beginnings of a scruffy beard and his eyes are clear and direct.

“Dean Winchester,” he says. “I have to talk to you.”

“Who the hell are you?” Dean says, grabbing for the cross in his belt. He shoves it in the man’s face but the man doesn’t even blink.

“My name is Castiel,” says the man. “I don’t mean you any harm.” His voice is calm and somehow reassuring, although his eyes are disturbingly intense.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know more than that, Dean. I know who you are and what you do. I know that you have a destiny to fulfill.”

“And how do you know _that_?” Dean snaps. Mom is coming towards them from the restrooms, looking wary, pulling the Browning 9mm from her holster.

Castiel slides out of the seat and stands, facing Mom. “Mary Winchester,” he says. Dean stands too, putting his cross back in his belt.

She pulls the gun and aims it straight between his eyes. The clerk at the counter stares, his eyes going wide. He ducks behind the counter.

Castiel holds up one hand calmingly. “Do not be afraid,” he says.

Mom pulls the trigger three times in a row. The bullets catch the man in the face, throat, and chest, but instead of burrowing in and blasting out the back, they absorb and disappear without leaving a mark. Castiel still holds his hand up, his expression unchanged.

Dean circles around Castiel to stand next to Mary. Castiel steps forward and Mom pulls the trigger again, although it still has no effect.

“Stop,” says Castiel, and when Mary pulls the trigger again, nothing happens. He lowers his hand and looks from one of them to the other. “Mary Winchester. Dean Winchester. I have a message for you.”

“What are you?” Dean asks.

Castiel lowers his head slightly. The lights overhead flare blue for one brilliant instant and just before they dim again, Dean can see the afterimage of massive black shapes stretching across the length of the rest stop, two feathered wings. “I am an angel of the Lord.”

“Bullshit,” says Mom, although her voice is shaky and she has lowered her gun. “There is no such thing.”

“You have work ahead of you that needs to be done. Azazel and his army are working to bring about the apocalypse. We don’t have time to discuss theology.” Castiel makes a gesture and suddenly they’re standing in the parking lot next to the Impala. Mary gasps and starts to raise her gun again but then seems to decide against it. She holsters it instead.

“What do you mean, the apocalypse?” Dean asks. “Like it says in the Bible? The real thing?”

“One and the same.” Castiel’s gaze fixes on him. “Azazel means to free Lucifer from Hell, and when Lucifer walks the Earth, the end of the world will come.”

“How do we stop something like that?”

“The 66 Seals prevent it from happening, like locks on a door. Once all of them are opened, there is no stopping it. The pregnant women and their children in that parking garage was the thirty-eighth seal.”

“Can’t you stop it? You’re an angel, right?” Mary interrupts. “Why do you need our help?”

“We are trying to stop it. We are working as hard as we can, but there are more demons than angels, and we can’t be everywhere at once. We need help.”

“But why us?” Mary insists. Dean avoids looking at her.

Castiel seems to hesitate, considering his response. “You’re the only one who can stop it,” he says finally. “You have a personal connection.”

“You want us to save Sam,” Mary whispers.

“Azazel is using Samuel to help break the seals, but there are others. The demon Lilith has an army of her own and is competing with Azazel to be the first to free Lucifer.”

“How do we do it? How do we stop them from breaking a seal?” Dean asks quietly.

“We believe that the next seal to be broken is the Walk of the Endless, tomorrow night at midnight. Azazel will sacrifice four vampires and use their blood to open a gate to hell. The demons will pour forth in an unstoppable stream and his army will increase a thousand-fold.”

“Azazel is following us,” Mom says. “If we go to this gate, we’ll lead him there.”

For the first time, Castiel looks uncomfortable. “That wasn’t Azazel earlier. My form…I didn’t realize how powerful it was in this world. I tried to speak to you then.”

“That was your _voice_?” Dean says incredulously. Mom has gone very pale.

“You were there?” she asks.

The discomfort smoothes from Castiel’s face and he tilts his head to the side slightly. “It is not my job to pass judgment on sins.”

It is Dean’s turn to feel uncomfortable. Mom looks sick. He wants to reach out and comfort her but he knows she would never accept it now. She may not ever again. _The angels were watching them fuck_. Dean was never one to believe in heaven, just different levels of hell. If he had known… No. He wouldn’t have done things differently.

Castiel watches them calmly, waiting for some sort of response.

“We’ll do it,” Dean says finally. He sees Mom glance at him in surprise but he doesn’t look at her. “Just tell us how.”

“Good. I can tell you how to get there. You’ll have to drive all night to make it in time. I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mary says roughly. She circles around Castiel and pulls open the passenger’s side door, leaning in to get her journal. Castiel levels his gaze at Dean.

“I’m not asking you to save Samuel,” he says quietly. “I’m asking you to stop him.”

“I know,” Dean replies.

 

##

 

Dean drives them west towards Alabama. Mom spends the entire drive with her notebook and with a few of the research texts that they use all the time. After half an hour of reading, she finally speaks.

“Lilith was Adam’s first wife, and she left when he insisted she submit to him,” she says idly, running her finger down the page. “She became the first demon. She was cursed so that all of her children will die, so she steals the children of others.”

“Sounds like a charmer,” Dean says.

“There isn’t anything in here about the Seals.” Mom tips her head back against the headrest. “Hard not to believe him, though.”

“This means we’re going to have to save vampires,” Dean says.

“Or at least, stop them from being killed in the ritual,” Mom amends. He glances at her and she smiles wanly.

They drive for another six hours before they arrive in Wren Grove, Alabama. The town is small, barely a post office and a church. Beyond that are miles and miles of farmland.

“Castiel said it was at this address,” Dean says dubiously, slowing the car to a crawl. To their left, down about a quarter mile of driveway is a ramshackle house, blank and glittering in the setting sun. Human shapes move in the yard. Dean keeps the car moving forward.

“Looks like a lot of them,” Mom says. “We’ll have to stock up on rock salt.”

“I can see eight of them just here,” Dean says. Mom glances at him and Dean shrugs. “I don’t think that’s all of them. And that’s a lot.”

“Going in with shotguns and holy water will be suicide,” Mom agrees. “It won’t stop the ritual. It’ll just get us killed.”

“We’ll have to stop them without going in,” Dean says.

##

They spend the rest of the day getting supplies.

There is a general store a town away that sells giant bags of rock salt and jugs of water which Mom blesses. It is harder to find a megaphone until Mom thinks of a toy store, and they find a red plastic megaphone there, as well as two pump-action squirt guns. They get back to Wren Grove well after dark.

They start at the driveway with a bag of salt each. Mom cuts of the bottom corner of her bag and starts to walk, salt trailing behind her.

Dean starts in the opposite direction. The bag slump slowly in his hand as it empties, and after it runs dry, he goes back for another one. He doesn’t know if the demons in the house can feel the circle closing in on them. He keeps low in the tall grass, trying to keep his head down.

Five bags later, he meets up with Mary on the far end of the house. She nods to him, then walks past him to check his salt line. He follows along the line of hers, looking for gaps.

Back in front of the house, Mom takes out the holy water and fills one of the squirt guns with it. The gun holds about a quart of water.

“We need to get everyone with the holy water before we can start the exorcism,” Mom says. “Make sure you have a clear path back to the salt line when you head in. If they come towards you, retreat.” She takes the tranquilizer gun from the trunk. “I think Sam’s the only human in there. Don’t let him get near the salt line. I’m taking the front door. You take the back.”

“No problem,” Dean says, taking the squirt gun from her. He takes another gallon jug of water from the trunk as Mom fills the other gun, then takes out a machete for the vampires.

“Be careful,” he says to her. She nods once, grabs another jug of water, and heads out down the salt line.

Dean heads back out into the field, trudging through the grass. He keeps an eye on the house. Someone moves past a window and he half-raises the gun but doesn’t aim it.

The house lies quiet. No one is going to come out to him to get splashed, when they have a seal to break at midnight. He rests the squirt gun on his shoulder and reaches down to touch the cross in his pocket reassuringly, and then he steps over the salt line.

He moves towards the house warily, circling around to the back door. He knows that he is painfully exposed to anyone who might be looking out a window, but he doesn’t stop walking. When he reaches the steps up to the back door, he stops and listens, wondering if Mom is in place. He has no way to tell.

He kicks in the door.

Two faces turn towards him, eyes black. He pumps the plastic squirt gun and fires a stream at the middle-aged woman by the kitchen sink, then the man at the table. They scream, recoiling, and smoke rises. He continues through.

In the living room, the television is going. There are three in here, two sitting on the couch, one in the back of the room by the doorway. He hears the front door burst in as he pumps the squirt gun again and shoots water over the two on the couch.

The one in the doorway storms forward, making a gesture at him. Dean holds tight to the squirt gun as it tries to tear itself from his grip. The demon cringes suddenly and twists aside and Dean sees Mom in the doorway behind it, gun up.

“Two in the hall,” she gasps, already turning her gun towards the third doorway. “Three here.”

“Two in the kitchen,” Dean replies, shooting holy water towards the demons on the couch again to make sure they don’t approach. The two from the kitchen appear in the doorway, keeping out of range of his squirt gun. That makes seven, which means there is at least one more person in the house, but probably two. Azazel and Sam have to be here.

Mom disappears through the doorway and Dean backs through after her, keeping his gun on the demons.

“You go upstairs,” Mom says. Dean turns to see a staircase curling up. Mom is heading towards an open doorway under the stairs, where more stairs seem to lead down.

“We should both go down there,” Dean says, eyeing the staircase warily. If Azazel and the four vampires are anywhere, it’s down there.

“Go upstairs,” Mom says. “Then meet me outside when you’re done.” She heads downstairs.

He hesitates a second, then runs up the stairs, his feet thudding on the wood. The staircase twists and then rises to the second floor hallway. The hall is papered in a peeling floral print. There are two doors here, both closed.

He kicks in the first door, but the room is empty and echoing. He strains to hear any noise downstairs, then kicks in the second door.

There’s a woman here, curled on the floor in the otherwise empty room. Rope is wrapped around her wrists and ankles and there is duct tape over her mouth. She rolls her eyes up to look at Dean. He squirts her with the holy water and she rolls away, making a sound in her throat, steam rising from her flesh. Right, the vampires.

He leans forward and rips the tape from her mouth. She winces, flexing her lips.

“Where are the others?” he asks her roughly. “There should be four of you.”

“You’re a little late,” she gasps. When he stares at her blankly, she adds, “They’ve sacrificed the others already. One at dawn, one at noon, one at dusk. Just me left.”

Dean glances at his watch. It’s getting close to midnight. There isn’t much time left.

“How did they sacrifice the others?”

“Please don’t kill me,” the girl begs. “Please, just let me go.”

“You’re a vampire,” Dean says. “I’m not stupid.”

She shakes her head, her eyes wet. “No. I mean, yes, I’m a vampire, but I’m different. We choose not to kill humans. We wouldn’t drink human blood. We tried not to give in to the blood lust. You have to understand.”

“Why would I believe you?”

“You don’t have any reason to.” She half smiles through her tears. “I know I can’t prove that I don’t kill people, but I don’t. The others—” Her smile fades. “I guess it’s just me now.”

“But vampires are evil,” Dean insists.

“People can change.”

Dean takes the machete from his belt and holds it against her neck. She closes her eyes, still crying.

“People change,” she says again.

Dean lets out a breath in a sigh, then moves down to her ankles and cuts the rope there. He gets up and helps her to her feet.

“If I hear of even one person dying mysteriously around here, I’m going to hunt you down so fast you won’t know what happened,” he growls to her. She nods.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“How sweet,” someone says from the doorway. Dean brings up the squirt gun and it is jerked from his hands, slamming into the far wall and cracking, the holy water spilling out onto the floor. One of the demons from downstairs is standing there, watching them.

“You actually believed her,” the demon continues with a smirk. “Didn’t think you would.”

Dean yanks the cross from his pocket and holds it up, advancing on the demon. The demon retreats, glaring.

“Come on,” Dean snarls to the vampire, who hurries after him and then goes for the stairs. Dean waits until she’s starting down the stairs, then follows, making sure the demon doesn’t come after them.

They both reach the bottom of the stairs. “Outside,” Dean says, sparing a glance at the stairs to the basement. The vampire hesitates and Dean pushes past her, holding up the cross. Demons step back, but not with the same kind of pain that the holy water inspired. A few of them are smiling at him.

“Where’s your mother, Dean?” one of them asks in a sing-song.

He ignores the demon, pushing his way to the door to the kitchen. “Come on,” he says to the vampire, who follows close behind.

“Is she downstairs with Azazel?” another asks.

“I think she is,” says another one. “I think I heard screaming.”

“I didn’t hear anyone screaming,” the vampire mutters. Dean glances at her, then pushes open the back door.

In the yard, there’s a shape waiting outside the salt line. Dean sighs in relief and breaks into a run, dragging the vampire behind him. She struggles in his grip and he glances back at her horrified face, then forward again at the shape and he sees that it’s not Mom. It’s Sam.

Dean stops, still holding the vampire’s arm. She struggles to pull free.

“Was this some kind of trick?” she gasps desperately. “You were helping them all along?”

He lets go of her arm and she stumbles back. “Run,” he says. “As fast as you can.”

She sends one last glance at Sam and then breaks into a run. Dean turns back to Sam.

“You’re saving vampires now?” Sam asks him calmly. The salt line at his feet is broken, the salt scattered where he kicked through it.

“She doesn’t kill humans,” Dean replies, clutching his cross. He wishes Mom gave him the tranquilizer gun. Where is Mom, anyway?

Sam tilts his head to the side. “You believe that?”

“I have to,” Dean says roughly. “I have to believe that evil things can choose good.”

Sam stares at him expressionlessly. Dean steps forward, straining his ears for any sounds behind him at the house. Sam hasn’t captured Dean with his mojo yet, so that’s a good sign.

“You can still join us,” Dean says quietly. “You can help us fight evil and save the world.”

“Do you want that because you want it, or because your mother does?” Sam sounds honestly curious.

Dean hesitates. “There’s no difference between those two things,” he says finally. “I love her.”

“But she uses you as a tool. Do you actually think she loves you back?”

“You don’t know anything about us. She loves me,” Dean insists hotly.

Sam looks faintly frustrated. “And you don’t know me. You don’t care if you save me. You’re only doing it because she wants you to. Does she love you because you do things for her?”

“Yes.”

Sam holds out a hand. Dean feels the power close around him like a hand, so tight he can barely breathe. “Will you love me if I kill him?” he says.

Dean stares at him blankly. “What?”

There is a crunch of dead leaves and then Azazel comes forward from the edge of the yard. He is holding onto the vampire’s arm as if he doesn’t even notice her struggles.

“Of course,” Azazel says.

Dean feels the power take hold of his head and twist.


	5. Chapter 5

Mary sees Sam, the twist of his hand, and she sees Dean fall to the ground. She’s running as fast as she can and her holster is slapping her hip and she’s denying it, trying to unsee it, _it didn’t just happen, that’s wrong, that couldn’t have happened._

Azazel is dragging the vampire back towards the house but she doesn’t care because _that didn’t just happen_. She sees Sam turning away, following Azazel, and she pours her energy into her sprint and she has the tranquilizer gun in her hand and she can shoot him right here, right now, take him down and smuggle him out of here and save him, make this end. And then she’s at the salt line and the body is on the ground and she throws the gun aside and she drops to her knees.

The body is broken with death. Its arms are outstretched, hands relaxed, palms up. Though it’s lying on its back, its lips are kissing the ground. Its neck seems to have an extra joint.

 _No. No. Please._

She drops to the ground, her fingers searching the neck for a pulse that obviously isn’t there. It’s too soon for rigor mortis but the neck crunches when she tries to turn the head back around and she barely has time to turn away before she’s vomiting into her hands, onto the ground.

She crawls away from the body on her hands and knees and then curls up on the grass on her side, hugging herself. _We deserve this_ , she thinks. _This is our punishment. We brought this on ourselves._

There has always been a gaping hole in her chest and she thought that it couldn’t hurt any worse than it did but now she knows how wrong she was. She pushes herself up onto her hands and knees again and looks back at the body. She had turned the head enough that it’s not facing the ground anymore. The eyes are open and startled, as if they never saw death coming.

She crawls back to him, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist. She wipes her hands on her pants and then pulls him up into her lap, his head on her knees. Briefly she remembers doing this twice before—John, dead on the ground; the shapeshifter with Sam’s face—but she pushes those away.

She is crying and she doesn’t remember starting. She hears a sound in the doorway of the house but she doesn’t look up. They can kill her if they want. She will welcome it.

“Why are you crying?” asks a voice from the field outside the salt line. She raises her head to see a little girl standing there, maybe seven years old with big banana curls and a party dress.

“Is he dead?” the girl continues, stepping over the broken line. She looks faintly concerned but Mary knows who she is.

“Lilith,” she says hoarsely.

The girl smiles. “You’re so smart,” she says. Her patent leather shoes swish in the grass. She crosses over to them and looks down at Dean. “Wow, he was a looker, wasn’t he?”

Mary hugs Dean close to her chest, cupping his face in her palm, feeling the lingering warmth in his cheek.

“Don’t you wish he would just… open his eyes?” Lilith asks conversationally.

“Go to hell,” Mary whispers.

Lilith hesitates, then laughs. “Language,” she scolds indulgently. “You shouldn’t speak like that in front of a child.”

“You’re not a child.”

Lilith looks down at herself, smoothing her hands over her party dress. “I look like one, don’t I?”

“What do you want?”

“I was here to start the Walk of the Endless, but I guess I’m a little late for that.” Lilith shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. There are other seals, and the only ones that really count are the first and last ones. It doesn’t matter which of the rest of them you do, or what order you do them in.” She smirks. “Did the angels tell you that there are six hundred seals to choose from?”

“I don’t care about the goddamn seals.” Dean’s cheek is growing cold under her hand. The night air is cold. Mary is cold.

“You don’t? The angels must be so annoyed with you.” Lilith laughs and spins around in a circle, her dress billowing around her. “You started it and now you don’t even have the intention of finishing it.”

“I didn’t start anything.”

Lilith stops spinning. “Well of course you did, silly. Didn’t the angels tell you?”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break,” Lilith intones. “We would have broken Lucifer free ages ago if we could break the first seal on our own but it took someone righteous. All this time we’ve been buying souls, trying to start the ball rolling, and then you come along.”

“I’ve never been to Hell,” Mary says.

“That’s what’s so funny about it!” Lilith’s eyes sparkle. “These prophecies are so tricky! It could have meant man, the gender, but it meant man, the species. It could have been any righteous human but it meant hunter, someone who knew about the real evils in the world and fought against them. It could have meant literally spilling blood but it meant intentionally hurting someone for no other reason but your own relief. It could have happened in Hell, but it happened in Hades, Texas.”

Mary is shaking her head back and forth. “You’re lying.”

“You think the angels would side with a mother who raped her own son if they had any choice?”

“I didn’t r—I never would—” Mary hugs Dean hard, closing her eyes. “It wasn’t—”

“The angels think that if you broke it, you’re the one who can put it back together.” Lilith shrugs. “When you’re done, you think they’ll keep you out of Hell? You know that’s where you’re headed. You’ve always been headed there.”

Mary is still shaking her head, but she doesn’t deny it anymore. Of _course_ she’s going to Hell. She has known it all along.

“I can bring him back for you, if you want. He’ll wake right up like he had a nice nap and he’ll be good as new. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“You want my soul,” Mary says woodenly. She hears a scream somewhere inside the house and then the deep, powerful thrum of magic. The Walk of the Endless is starting.

“What have you got to lose? Lucifer will walk soon anyway, and when you die you’re headed right to Hell. Might as well do it with darling Dean by your side, right?” Lilith glances at the house, smiling, as black smoke starts pouring from the windows and doors, covering the moon, plunging them into darkness.

There is only one answer Mary can give, and it comes easily to her lips. “Yes.”

“One year or the apocalypse, whichever comes first,” Lilith says cheerfully. She steps up close to Mary and leans down, smelling like a little girl, sweet and perfumed. “Say hello to your son for me.”

Her lips remind Mary of Dean.

 

##

 

The world is different after the Walk of the Endless.

The Impala sounds like a purring cat when they sit in traffic on their way through Birmingham, the cars stopped around them. It’s a week since Dean died, and they have been traveling aimlessly ever since. Dean rests his wrists on the steering wheel and stares into the rearview mirror at the smoke that has started to pour from the city behind them, billowing up a hundred feet into the sky.

“That can’t be a good sign,” he says.

Mary is watching it with dark eyes. “They’re moving as fast as they can,” she says. “I don’t know if anyone can stop them now.”

The traffic eases forward a little. The other side of the highway is empty. No one is going into the city now. At this rate, they won’t get out of here for days.

“Someone could have stopped them,” Dean says quietly.

“If the angels were expecting us to stop that, they should have given us more time.” She shakes her head, looking away. “Let’s just get out of here. Find someplace to wait it out.”

A place to wait it out together, just the two of them. No more pointless hunting in their last days. The world will end and take them with it.

Dean stares silently out the windshield, his foot on the brakes, then asks, “Why didn’t you ask for Sam?”

Mom looks at him. “What?”

“If you were willing to sell your soul, why didn’t you ask her to give you Sam?”

There is a long pause. Mom looks out at the road ahead of them and finally says, “If I thought a demon was capable of giving me Sam, I would have done it years ago.”

He wasn’t expecting her to say something like ‘I realized what really mattered to me’ or ‘When it came down to it, I chose you over him,’ but he still finds himself disappointed in her response. There is a sick, twisting anger pulsing behind his teeth.

“You’re going to go to Hell!” Dean blurts.

“You think we’re not going there anyway for what we do?” Mary snaps back, glaring at him. “I just couldn’t—” She stops, turning away in frustration.

The back door opens and someone slides into the seat. Both of them flinch, turning around. The angel Castiel is there, looking calm and composed.

“Where the hell did you come from?” Dean asks, startled.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier,” he says, shutting the door. “We’ve been very busy.”

“Honestly I wasn’t expecting to see you at all,” Mom says coolly. Castiel turns his empty gaze on her.

“It’s not lost yet,” he says. “There are thirteen seals left.”

“And there are thousands of demons now. It’s pointless. We’re done.” Mom crosses her arms over her chest, settling back in her seat firmly.

“You’re not done,” Castiel counters. “It’s not over yet. There is still time.”

“Dean died,” Mom says sharply. “I don’t care if there’s time left, we’re not doing it. Find someone else. I’m not going to let him die again.”

A spot opens between the cars between them and Dean pulls into it, moving slowly forward. Castiel lets the silence hold for a moment, then says, “There is no one else.”

“No?” Mom lets out a short, disgusted laugh. “No one else crazy enough to do your dirty work? Why am I not surprised?”

“There is no one else because only the person who started this can end it,” Castiel says levelly. “Only the person who broke the first seal can stop the breaking of the last one.”

Mom doesn’t say anything in response to that. Dean pulls the car into another open spot. “What do you mean?” he asks. “What first seal?”

“It’s not true,” Moms says quietly.

“The first seal—” Castiel begins.

“Don’t tell him!” Mom shouts, a note of hysteria in her voice. Castiel looks at her and falls silent.

“What was the first seal?” Dean asks again. “What happened, Mom?”

“It’s just a lie that Lilith told me,” Mom replies. “It doesn’t have any truth to it. Demons lie. Someone else broke your goddamn seal. Maybe you should spend some time looking for them, not wasting your time on me.”

“We didn’t know what was going to happen any more than the demons did,” Castiel says quietly. “We couldn’t stop it from happening, but once it did, there was no question. You broke the first seal, Mary. If you give up now, no one will be able to close the last one.”

Mom shakes her head firmly. “Dean and I are going away,” she says. “We’re going to enjoy our last days on earth.”

“And let the world die,” Castiel counters.

“Yes.”

“No,” Dean interrupts. “We’re not. Mom, what are you talking about? What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“What did Lilith tell you?”

“Your mother broke the first seal when she abused you, Dean,” says Castiel. Mom shoots him a furious look.

“She never abused me,” Dean says, confused.

Mom is staring at him, her expression a mix of distress and relief. “No, I didn’t. He’s not a _victim_. I didn’t do anything that he didn’t—” She cuts herself off, tips back her head and stares at the ceiling. “Oh, God,” she whispers.

“It was abuse,” Castiel insists calmly to Dean. “It was the very definition of abuse. Perhaps you don’t see it that way, but it was enough to trigger the first seal. That was what started this.”

“And what’s the last seal, huh?” Mary asks, her voice strangely shaky. “What does that require of me?”

“You’ll know when the time comes.”

“You’re not even going to tell me?” Mom lets out a bitter laugh. “That means it’s going to kill me, doesn’t it? So one way or another, I die. I’d like to spend my last days on Earth doing the sort of things _I_ want to do, not what the angels tell me.”

Dean looks over his shoulder at Castiel. “Can you get her out of her deal? If she does this for you, can you get rid of it?”

“If I end her deal, you will die, Dean.”

Dean nods once. “That’s okay.”

Mom slams her hand on the dashboard. “It is not okay, Dean!”

“Don’t be selfish!” Dean shouts back at her.

She looks startled. “I’m not selfish. He’s asking too much.”

“No. Not about saving the world. You raised me from the dead so that you would have someone to help you get Sam. You know I can’t live without you, but _you can live without me_.”

Mom blinks at him. The car pulls into a last open spot and then they are sailing free of the traffic. Dean glances in the rearview mirror to see the traffic still snarled behind them, backed up for miles. Castiel is watching him.

“I didn’t bring you back just to help me get Sam,” Mom says quietly.

“You said we’re going to die anyway, right? I’d rather die knowing you’re not being tortured in hell.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Castiel says. Dean gives him a betrayed look. Castiel looks faintly apologetic. “As long as Lilith remains alive, she’ll be able to get at Mary somehow.”

“So you want us to do you a favor, spend the last days of our life fighting to stop breaking the last seal, and then dying and going to Hell anyway, just because you asked us to?” Mom is talking to the windshield, staring at the empty road ahead of them, her voice blank.

“Yes,” says Castiel.

“Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Haven’t I done _enough_?” Mom asks, her voice tired.

“Not yet,” Castiel returns quietly.

Mom turns her head and looks at Dean. He glances briefly at her and sees that her eyes are red and wet. She studies him long after he looks away, and then finally says, “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. Tell me what to do.”

But when they look in the back seat, Castiel is gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Lilith comes when they call her.

Dean finds the sigils to summon her and Mom paints the circle on the floor, lighting the candles and reading the incantation. When Lilith appears, she has taken the body of another little girl, this one with red hair and a heart-shaped face.

“Mary Winchester, I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” Lilith smiles. “Not for a couple days, anyway. The apocalypse is coming up so fast.”

“I’m here to make a deal,” Mary replies.

“I already made a deal with you.” Lilith looks past Mary to Dean. “Or is it your soul you’re going to sell this time, Dean?” She smiles at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You are so much cuter when you’re alive.”

Dean looks uncomfortable and Lilith laughs. Mary shakes her head.

“Not that kind of a deal.” Mary steps in front of Dean, blocking Lilith’s view of him. “It’s a deal to stop Azazel.”

“You want your little Sammy back before the world ends?” Lilith asks laughingly. “And what are you going to do for me?”

“We will kill Azazel for you. You just have to tell us how.” Mary’s voice is firm.

“Kill Azazel? You think you can stop him? You’re a bug on his _windshield._ ”

“There’s a way, though, right? A way to kill demons?” Dean butts in. Lilith’s expression flickers and changes.

“You want me to tell you how to kill demons? Why would I do something like that?” Lilith steps to the side to give Dean a look. “Are you trying to trick me?”

“We just want Sam,” Mom says. “We just want to get him back from Azazel.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you won’t use it to kill me if you get the chance.”

Mom looks at her. “Do you think we’ll manage to kill both of you before the apocalypse comes?”

Lilith meets her eyes. “If _you_ don’t, then why are you even trying?”

“It’s not about saving Sam anymore. We tried. He doesn’t want to come. I just want to destroy the demon that took my baby from me.”

Lilith seems to weigh this for a long moment, studying Mary. Mary stares back at her, her expression firm and cold. Finally Lilith says, “There is a gun, made by Samuel Colt, that can kill demons. He was the one who protected the devil’s gate from demons, and that was why Azazel needed your son to help him open the gates of hell. The gun was the key in the lock.”

“Where is it now?”

“Azazel and Samuel still have the gun in their possession, because they know I’m after them. They are keeping it somewhere that no demon can reach. Azazel himself can’t touch the gun, because he knows that if he could reach it, so could I. Only humans can reach the gun. Azazel uses Samuel.”

“And now you can use us,” Mom finishes.

Lilith smiles. “For now.”

“How do we get the gun?” Dean asks.

Lilith turns her head to the side and clasps her hands in front of herself girlishly. “Azazel and Samuel are with their army in Maryland right now. They keep the gun with them at all times. My people have tracked it down to St. Mary’s Convent in Ilchester. That’s all we know.”

 

##

 

The city walks with demons now. Everywhere Samuel looks, he can see the army walking with their languid grace, their eyes like cigarette burns in paper. They’ve moved into a convent in Maryland and Azazel has set to work drawing a summoning circle on the floor.

It’s lonely without the other children around, although it’s not that Samuel misses them really. He was the one who killed them, after all. It’s just that they had something in common, being humans together, and now he’s the only human among the demons.

Azazel paid more attention to him back then, when he was waiting for one of the children to distinguish themselves as the one to lead his army. Samuel was the standout child. When Samuel did something good, Azazel would smile and say ‘that’s my boy.’

Now Samuel is the boy king, and no one cares.

“We’re so close,” Azazel says, his eyes bright yellow and fervent. He paces to the altar and touches it reverently. “One seal. One seal left to go, and then…”

It’s the ‘and then’ that gets Samuel. And then Lucifer walks, and Hell comes to Earth, and the demons reach up and tear Heaven down, and the ultimate battle begins.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Samuel asks. It’s not the first time he’s asked this question.

Azazel turns and faces him fully. “My boy,” he says. “You’ll be by my side. You’re my secret weapon. The angels won’t know what happened.”

“But what about after?”

“Lucifer will take his place on the throne and it will be glorious.” Azazel’s eyes are distant with the imagined sight of it. “Everyone will serve under him, and the world will be as it should. You and I will serve at his side, because we will be the ones to set him free. We will transcend humanity, Samuel.” Azazel focuses on him. “Don’t you want that? Doesn’t that sound like paradise?”

“Paradise,” Samuel echoes.

“If it weren’t for you, none of this could have happened. We’re all indebted to you. I’m so proud of you, Samuel.”

Warmth floods Samuel’s cheeks suddenly and he looks down. Azazel laughs.

“You don’t believe me? You’re the final step, my son. Thousands of demons would kill to have the role you’re going to play. I am so proud that you are my son. Lucifer will look at you and he will know that _my son_ raised him from Hell.”

Samuel meets his eyes. Azazel smiles.

The black smoke comes into the room like a swarm of flies, swirling around Samuel and then twisting past him to Azazel. Samuel has never been able to understand the speech of the incorporeal demons but Azazel’s eyes fix on the swarm and he frowns.

“Surround the refectory,” he says. “Take them hostage when they try to leave. Don’t let them get the gun.”

“What happened?” Samuel asks as the cloud disperses. Azazel glances at him.

“Your family has come for the Colt,” he says.

“My mother is here?” Samuel asks in surprise. Mary hadn’t seemed capable of much of anything when he last saw her, sitting on the floor with Dean’s body on her lap. He had left when Lilith had appeared. The woman’s grief had been foreign to him and left him feeling bitter. She treats Dean like a tool his whole life and only shows him how she cares after he’s dead?

“Yes,” Azazel confirms, studying him. “Go make me proud.”

 

##

 

St. Mary’s Convent is a sprawling building and its refectory juts out from the building at the opposite end of the convent from the chapel. The Colt is on a table at the far end of the room, so covered in devil’s traps and salt and other nasty sigils that the demons in Azazel’s employ stay a healthy distance away, ringing the outside of the building and watching it with dark eyes.

Samuel has no weapons but he flexes the air around himself like a fist. He’s ready for her attack this time. No tranquilizer darts will be getting past his guard. He reaches the end of the hallway opens the door without touching it.

Rock salt blasts the wall next to him, pattering to the floor around him. The young man is standing in the middle of the long dining room, his shotgun braced against his shoulder.

“I broke your neck,” Samuel says in surprise.

“Try harder next time,” Dean replies coldly, his finger tight on the trigger but not shooting again.

Mary appears behind him, holding the gun. She raises her arm, pointing it at Samuel, between his eyes. He stares down the barrel and he doesn’t know if his powers will hold back that bullet. He has never tried to stop a bullet before.

“You killed my son,” she says, the gun unwavering.

“What do you care?” Samuel looks from Dean to Mary and back again.

“He’s my son,” Mary says quietly.

“He was just a tool for you to get to me!” Sam exclaims. “You would never sacrifice yourself for a tool!” But as he looks at her, he can see the truth in it. Lilith’s fingerprints are all over her, a possessive never-ending loop of mine, mine, mine.

“He’s important to me,” Mary says simply. “We’ve come for Azazel. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

“I’m your son, too.” Sam doesn’t know why he says it.

“Not since the day Azazel took you away.” Mary hasn’t pulled the trigger yet and he doesn’t know if she will, but her eyes are not the same eyes that he saw during the attempted exorcism, when she was trying to save him. They’re colder now.

“I thought you wanted me to be a part of your perfect little family?”

Mary smiles grimly. “It’s too late for that. It was too late when you killed Dean.”

Samuel gestures. “You have him back!”

“Sam, it’s too late.”

He stares at her, then at Dean, who is watching him with dark, sad eyes. Dean, who should be dead. Dean, who he killed to prove a point. _You’re just like me, Dean. They don’t care about us._

“I could kill him again,” Samuel says breathlessly. “What would you do then? You don’t have anything left to sell.”

“No,” Mary says. “I’ll just shoot you. He’ll be dead, and so will you.” She meets his gaze and lowers her voice. “Won’t Azazel be _inconsolable_?”

He can remember Mary writhing on the floor, clutching at her chest as if something had been physically ripped from her. Dean’s body, limp in her lap.

Won’t Azazel be inconsolable.

Samuel makes a sharp gesture and the gun rips out of Mary’s hands. She lunges after it but it slaps into Samuel’s hand before she can reach it. He closes his fist and pulls, a move he learned so many years ago, and the two of them stagger forward.

“You want your revenge?” he snarls, his throat uncomfortably tight. “You can come and take it.”

 

##

 

“Mary, Mary, Mary,” says Azazel. He circles around the two of them, giving Mary a lascivious once-over that makes Dean bristle. “You’re missing something.” He glances over at Dean, smirking. “And you seem to be back with the living. Did she throw that soul away for you, or does my boy just not know how to break a neck?”

Samuel waits quietly behind Azazel, his hands clasped in front of him, holding the Colt. His power is keeping Mary and Dean still, frozen in front of Azazel like mice in front of a snake.

“You’re just in time for the party. Lucifer is pushing against the gate. Can you feel it?” Azazel tips back his head and closes his eyes, taking in a breath through his nose and seeming to listen for a second. “We’re going to let him through tonight.”

“You’re going to die tonight,” Mary hisses through clenched teeth. “And Lucifer is going down with you.”

Azazel laughs, a rich, delighted laugh. “You have no idea, little girl. You have no idea what Lucifer is. Your little mind can’t comprehend it.”

“He’s not getting past me,” Mary says. She rolls her eyes towards Samuel, who watches her impassively. “The last seal is not going to break.”

“Oh no?” Azazel glances back at Samuel and smiles. He takes a step back towards Samuel. “It was good that you brought the Colt. It was about time to use it anyway. Summon her.”

Samuel moves to the summoning circle painted on the floor. Mary and Dean stare at it without comprehension.

“She’s waiting for you to summon her,” Azazel says to Mary. “She knows you intend to kill her as soon as you killed me.”

“Then she’s not stupid,” Mary says, her jaw tight. “It’s more than I expected from her.

Azazel stares at her as Samuel gets to work. He starts to smile. “You don’t even know what the last seal is, do you?”

Before Mary can answer, Lilith is in the room with them, suddenly and without fanfare. She just steps into the air from somewhere else and stands there, looking around the room.

“Wow,” she says. “I was hoping for a little less Azazel.”

“Samuel,” Azazel orders.

Samuel raises his hand. He reaches out with his power, knifelike fingers of energy wrapping around her little girl’s body and clenching around the demon inside.

“I won’t be killed by a minion of Azazel,” Lilith gasps. She thrashes in his grip, her own power flexing dangerously. Samuel takes a step forward, adjusting his grip. Blood oozes from her mouth and nose and begins to drip on the floor.

Samuel glances down at the floor of the convent where the blood has splattered. Lucifer will rise from here. The floor will open and Hell will rise.

His life’s work will be completed tonight. After this, Azazel won’t need him anymore.

“Kill her,” Azazel urges. “Why are you slowing?”

Samuel raises his eyes to look at Lilith. She stares back at him, her face furious, her mouth and chin covered in blood. Behind him, Mary and Dean squirm against his restraining hold.

Lilith’s power pulses and breaks through his hold. Samuel lets his grasp dissolve. Mary and Dean break loose behind Azazel.

“You fool, what are you doing?” Azazel exclaims in fury. “Kill her! I told you to kill her!”

“If I died,” Samuel asks quietly, “would you sell your soul to get me back?”

“Do as I tell you, boy,” Azazel snarls.

“Just answer me,” Samuel begs.

Azazel brings his hand up sharply and Samuel flinches back. Suddenly a shape lunges between them—Mary plants herself in front of Samuel.

“Don’t touch my son,” she says, raising her gun.

Azazel’s glowing yellow eyes turn to her. Samuel sees the intent behind the gaze just as Azazel begins to make the gesture. Without even stopping to think, Samuel raises the Colt and fires.

Azazel’s head jerks back. There is a look of almost comical surprise on his face. He flickers like a lightening storm and then tips backward onto the chapel floor, his body going limp and empty for the last time.

“Sam,” Mary says breathlessly, turning to him.

Lilith begins to laugh. “The warrior of the angels but you break so easily,” she says, and gestures casually. Samuel hears the crack in Mary’s neck as her head twists around.

“Mom!” Dean screams, his eyes going wide in horror. He lunges for Samuel. Samuel bats him away, keeping the gun out of reach. Dean drills a knee into Samuel’s groin, doubling him over. They both hit the floor and Dean scrambles for the gun, yanking it out of Samuel’s grip.

“Don’t kill her!” Samuel tries to croak, but there is no air in his lungs.

The shot rings out. Lilith stares at them, still smiling, as electricity runs through her skull and her little girl body collapses.

 

##

 

The white that seeps from the floor of the convent isn’t a light so much as a burning, expanding void. Dean supports Sam in a half-stumble as they run down the halls. The white follows.

There are hundreds of thousands of demons outside, waiting for Lucifer to walk. Lilith’s army is fighting Azazel’s even without the direction of their respective leaders, although it’s unlikely that any of them know what has happened yet.

“He’s coming,” Samuel gasps out, feeling the slow burn increasing against his back. It’s advancing on them faster than they can run.

Dean doesn’t reply, but Samuel can hear the burst of his sobs, his still trembling shock over the loss of Mary. Black demon eyes turn towards the building when they burst out through the front doors. The evening sky is burning red above them. Sam pours on the speed, his fist tight around Dean’s arm.

“Faster,” Samuel says, tasting ash in his mouth.

The ground glows in front of them and there is a flash of black wings. Samuel flinches back. Dean jerks in his grip and then they both come to a stop.

A man stands there in front of them. Samuel recognizes him as an angel, although he doesn’t know which one exactly. Dean makes a surprised noise.

The angel’s arm is around a woman, who leans heavily on him. Her long blond hair hangs down over her face. A red, blistered handprint glows on her forearm.

“Sam. Dean.” The angel levels a steady look at them both. “The battle has finally begun. We have work to do.”


End file.
